


My Feet Set Upon Your Path

by MenacingPlatypus



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, At the Alehouse, Bathing by the River, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Turmoil, Friendship, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Only One Bed, Politics, Post Season 4, Praying to the gods, Rescue Mission, Roaming the Countryside, Sharpening Weapons, Shield Walls, Slow Burn, Strategy Sessions, Stuck in a Siege, Traveling by Foot, definitely some fluff, maybe some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MenacingPlatypus/pseuds/MenacingPlatypus
Summary: Set after the conclusion of season four. Our heroes find themselves cast into the wind and must navigate their place in the world as protectors of Edward's not-so-secret son.For the TLK Fanficfest Round 3: Slow Burn - each chapter will follow additional prompts, tags will be added accordingly.
Relationships: Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 55
Kudos: 69
Collections: The Last Kingdom Fanfic Fest





	1. I Look for You in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, as stated in the summary, I'll be trying to fill a variety of prompts from TLK FFF Round 3 in this work. Some chapters will be shorter, like this one, others longer. Prompts will be noted at the top of the chapter. I'm not too sure where this is going yet, so I'm afraid I don't have much to say other than thanks for reading and there will be more!
> 
> FFF Round 3: Only One Bed, Hurt/Comfort

The alehouse, if a slightly larger than average hovel in the center of a village can really be called that, is nearly empty when they arrive. This suits Uhtred just fine and he pays the man for a room, pleased there is space. Although at this point Uhtred would have gladly slept on the floor right where they stand. There’s a roaring fire in the middle of the room, so at least it would be warm. The storm came on them as they were running through the woods from the raiders and they’re all soaked. It’ll be a miracle if none of them get sick.

Uhtred’s mood was black before the rain started and the weather is certainly doing little to improve it. Aethelstan sniffles behind him and Uhtred resists the urge to growl at the innkeeper to hurry. They all need dry clothes, food and many, many cups of ale. After finally being pointed in the direction of their room for the evening Uhtred shepherds the damp Aethelstan ahead of him while his men follow behind.

When the door opens however, Uhtred is bitterly disappointed. There’s one narrow bed and barely enough room on the floor for their things and one grown man. Uhtred blows out a frustrated breath and the innkeeper offers a second room, for twice the silver. Jaw clenched, Uhtred agrees reluctantly and immediately Finan and Osferth commence arguing.

“Alright, Baby Monk,” Finan starts, grabbing the saddlebags and nudging Aethelstan forward through the doorway. “You and Sihtric in here with the boy. Uhtred and I will take the gear with us.”

Osferth blinks owlishly at him. “I’ve been on the floor the last dozen times.”

Grinning, Finan shrugs as he walks to the next room over. “After the day we’ve had, I’m sleeping in a bed. Fight Sihtric for it.”

Osferth looks over at Sihtric who’s peeling off sodden layers of clothing and the Dane just shakes his head gravely at the younger man. Brow furrowed, Osferth suggests, “I think Aethelstan would rather stay with you, Finan, and I’ll sleep in the other room. If that’s alright with you, Lord?” Uhtred is digging through the bag Finan left behind for the boy’s dry tunic as Aethelstan waits patiently, watching the back and forth with tired eyes. Finan returns to the doorway, empty handed, and he answers before Uhtred has a chance to.

“The boy will be more than comfortable in here with one of you and I’m not subjecting Uhtred to your snoring, or Sihtric’s bony ass. Now get a move on and change so we can eat.” Osferth grumbles back, but Uhtred knows the Irishman has won, as is his tendency. Aethelstan taken care of, Uhtred goes next door to change as well, leaving his bickering men behind.

Draping his soaked cloak over the room's only chair, Uhtred hisses as the wound on his shoulder protests the movement. Anger wars with the pain and Uhtred scowls as he tries to pull off his leathers without aggravating the slash. It had been his fault, really. The traveling merchant had warned them there were thieves in the woods, but Uhtred had been distracted, had wanted to reach Eoferwic as quickly as possible. ‘A few thieves,’ turned out to be a sizable group of raiding Danes and before Uhtred and his crew knew it they were fighting for their lives and escaping through the thick underbrush. Thank the gods Eadith hadn’t been with them having gone ahead with Father Pyrlig. The woman is tough but looking after Aethelstan was enough on a day like this. The lands are more settled in the aftermath of the tentative peace made at Winchester, but there will always be danger.

Which is something Uhtred should have remembered and now he’s paying for it. Sihtric had been cut as well, but the lean warrior is a hardy sort and hadn’t complained as Finan had wrapped it with a makeshift bandage. Still, Uhtred thinks as he frowns bitterly at his own oozing cut, he should have taken the potential danger more seriously. Sinking even further into his funk, Uhtred doesn’t hear Finan enter the room behind him.

“What in God’s name is that?” Finan scolds softly, coming over to Uhtred immediately. His fingers are surprisingly warm as they investigate, despite their sprint through the pelting rain, and he grabs Uhtred’s discarded tunic to wipe away the blood in order to see the slice more clearly.

“It’s nothing,” Uhtred grunts, shrugging away from Finan, but the Irishman wraps his hand around Uhtred’s bicep. His grip is like steel and Uhtred resigns himself to Finan’s mothering.

Tutting gently, Finan wraps the cut before releasing Uhtred. “You should have told me,” he says reproachfully, stepping back and working on pulling off his own sodden clothes.

“You fuss,” Uhtred replies shortly, turning his back to Finan and pulling the dry fabric over his head, thankful the rain hadn’t soaked through everything in their bags. With his back to the other man, Uhtred winces freely at the movement, but he can feel Finan’s disapproval in the air. They finish dressing in silence, listening to light rumble of Osferth unsuccessfully trying to convince Sihtric to sleep on the floor next door.

\--

After they’ve eaten and drank what the owner had to offer, they retire to their separate rooms for the night. Finan musses Aethelstan’s hair as the boy blinks sleepily, rubbing one tired eye.

“Don’t let Baby Monk kick you out of the bed, lad,” Finan advises solemnly and Osferth rolls his eyes. Uhtred’s temper has cooled with warm food and ale, but the guilt and burden of the day remains, weighing down his eyes and his heart. Watching the group eat quietly, bodies weary, Uhtred had felt that all too familiar stab of uncertainty. Leading men is a great responsibility and today he had failed them.

Nodding goodnight, Uhtred is grateful when the door shuts behind Finan. With a sigh, Uhtred plunks down on the edge of the bed and pulls off his boots before leaning backwards while being cautious of his arm. Finan fiddles with the bags on the floor drawing out extra furs before joining Uhtred. The Irishman’s bare feet make no noise on the wooden floor as he crosses the slats towards the bed. It’s cooler in here than the main room and along with his dry clothes, Uhtred is grateful for the extra warmth. He’s about to inquire whether the others need extra bedding as well before he notices the rest of the bedrolls are missing, presumably already having found a home next door.

Finan settles on the bed beside him with a small bowl of water and a thin length of cloth and he motions for Uhtred to sit up with one hand. Tempted to refuse, Uhtred berates himself for being difficult, Finan is the last person he should be cross with. A terrifying moment from earlier flashes under Uhtred’s eyelids and further twists his insides.

At the peak of the fighting as the idea that they may not be able to escape with their lives was just starting to wrap frigid fingers around Uhtred’s chest, he had turned and out of the corner his eye spied Finan, face full of blood. Uhtred’s heart had stopped, his breath stuttered, and his adversary got a lucky strike in. Of course, the blood Finan had been covered in wasn’t his own, which Uhtred should have guessed. Finan the Agile had not survived so long and killed so many men because he was lucky. He was quick and strong and brutal.

And unequivocally loyal.

Uhtred reminds himself of all these things as he faces Finan’s impatient eyes.

“Come on,” he orders sternly in his lilting accent, “it should be cleaned properly before you sleep.”

Begrudgingly, Uhtred sits up, swallowing a grimace. Finan watches him carefully, but doesn’t say anything. Instead his fingers move swiftly to the fabric he’d tied to stop the trickle of blood earlier. Pouring some water onto the cloth, he wipes at the dried blood firmly, eyes focused on the task at hand. As always, Finan can sense Uhtred’s mood and the normally talkative Irishman lets the silence stretch out as Uhtred closes his eyes, lulled by Finan’s touch and the knowledge that the darkness of sleep in a warm bed is within reach.

Finan’s fingers don’t linger as they wrap the clean bandage around Uhtred’s arm, but the Dane is incredibly aware of their grazing touch. For a breath, Uhtred is tempted to sag into Finan, knowing the other man will not object and undoubtedly will wrap caring arms around him, but Uhtred keeps his eyes closed and waits for the desire to pass. It feels as though he is leaning too much on Finan these days. They have been bonded for so long Uhtred doesn’t care to think of life without him, but since the disaster at Bebbanburg and the death of Beocca, Uhtred has even more frequently found himself using Finan as a touchstone and source of physical comfort. He knows the Irishman doesn’t mind, but Uhtred also knows there must be a line somewhere and he doesn’t wish to upset Finan by crossing it, however unintentionally.

“There, not so horrible, I hope,” Finan teases quietly, setting the water and soiled fabric down beside the bed. “Now, shove over, I’m not climbing over you”

“I’ll sleep on the outside,” Uhtred offers, but Finan waves him off.

“If someone comes through that door with less than honourable intentions, I think it’s better if those among us who aren't maimed are first in line.” Uhtred frowns, but he knows the determined set of Finan’s face means that his chances of winning the argument are low. “Move along,” Finan prods again, tapping Uhtred’s hip lightly with the back of his hand. Sliding over, Uhtred watches as Finan leans over to blow out the candles and in the darkness, the only sound is the rustling of them both settling down.

Uhtred rolls onto his right side, facing the door, to spare his injured shoulder. Finan lies on his side as well, but even as Uhtred’s eyes adjust to the dim, he can just barely make out the slope of the Irishman’s shoulder under the covers and he cannot tell which way the other man faces. The storm continues to rage outside and Uhtred thanks the gods yet again for the shelter and relative safety. Despite this, Uhtred has to stop himself from rolling over restlessly as the day’s events wind backwards through his mind.

After a few minutes however, Finan’s voice comes out of the dark, his breath warm on Uhtred’s face. “Is your shoulder bothering you?”

“No,” Uhtred answers gruffly, shifting slightly and brushing his knee against Finan’s. He’s tempted to leave it there, or even to push his leg further over until they are touching in a handful of places, but he resists.

“Then for God’s sake, will you stop twitching around over there.” Uhtred smiles into the dark at the exasperation in Finan’s voice. He tries to settle down, but the frantic run of his thoughts contemplating the possible, less desirable, outcomes from the day keeps him up, regardless of his exhaustion. Focusing on the rain and Finan’s steady breathing, Uhtred does his best to lie still and convince his brain to calm. A dramatic sigh from Finan moments later lets him know he’s failing.

“Today wasn’t your fault, Uhtred,” he whispers into the quiet space between them and Uhtred knows he should stop being surprised by Finan’s ability to see through him as though his soul were glass held to the sun. “And everyone is fine, so, please, for the love of God, go to sleep. You need it.”

Uhtred doesn’t respond at first. Hearing the words from Finan’s mouth helps. The man has never lied to him that Uhtred’s aware of, but even as it soothes, it also further stokes Uhtred’s need for reassurance. So rarely does Uhtred have the opportunity to indulge in seeking comfort away from the prying eyes who depend upon him to remain upright and unwavering and there is no one as able to provide it as Finan. Over so many years, Uhtred has seen his loved ones, his family, chipped away by fate and he considers it one of his greatest blessings that the gods have seen fit to leave Finan whole and at his side.

He’s still contemplating what it is he wants to ask for, never mind how to ask for it, when Finan solves the issue for him. Uhtred feels Finan’s hand sliding under the furs towards him and stills. The Irishman says nothing as he wraps his fingers around the Dane’s wrist and pulls the hand towards his face gently. Finan’s breath on the inside of his wrist causes Uhtred’s breath to quicken and he hopes that Finan doesn’t hear it stop completely for a moment when the Irishman presses his lips lightly to that same strip of skin.

Settling Uhtred’s hand back on the bed between them, Finan doesn’t let go, but intertwines their fingers together on the mattress. Buoyed by Finan’s obvious affection, Uhtred relaxes and allows his legs to rest against the other man. Heat and comfort wash over Uhtred and the sound of the rain reminds him less of their close call in the woods and more of peaceful afternoons in his hall in Coccham during autumn. It is no wonder then that Uhtred feels his eyelids start to droop, but his grip on Finan’s hand remains strong. 


	2. Same Old Song and Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred and crew continue north, not realizing that war is brewing all around them. 
> 
> TLK Fanficfest Round 3 - Travelling by foot or horseback, Sharpening weapons

It won’t take them long to reach Eoferwic, only a handful of days on foot at most, and Uhtred will be glad to be within the city’s walls. Pyrlig had been sent by Edward to visit Sigtryggr and determine what the Dane has been doing with his time over the last several months, so said the priest, but Uhtred hadn’t missed Pyrlig’s evasive manner. Uhtred and company had run into the priest in a pleasant coincidence on his way through Mercia. Eadith had opted to travel with the priest and his guard because Uhtred had told her they would only trail them by two days, at most. He and Finan had planned a small delay to help Aethelstan with his scouting and hunting skills, but then, in an embarrassing twist, they had stumbled across the large group of Danes who had chased them off course. 

“The lady Eadith won’t be happy,” Osferth mutters to Uhtred as they parade through the woods. Alfred’s bastard son walks beside Uhtred and not for the first time, Uhtred marvels at how, despite the limited contact between father and son, Osferth could sound eerily similar to the late king when voicing his disapproval. The comparison may not be fair, but it tightens the skin at the corners of Uhtred’s mouth. 

“Stiorra will make sure Eadith is treated well,” Uhtred replies simply, focusing his attention on the way forward. After the deluge from two days before, the rain has held off, but clouds are gathering behind them and Uhtred would prefer if they could find some form of shelter before the skies opened once more. It won’t be long before the sun begins to set in earnest and he would take the hollow under a tree at this point. A fire will be too risky, so the dryer the better. 

There are always bandits roaming the countryside, but Uhtred is still bothered by the band they had run into. Such a large number so far into Mercia is unusual and Uhtred has the fleeting thought that Aethelflaed should be told, but he reminds himself it is not his place to tell the Lady of Mercia what to do. She is both bright and capable, surely she will be aware. 

Finan and Sihtric are teasing Aethelstan where they trail behind Uhtred and Osferth and the boy is laughing quietly at the antics of the two warriors. Osferth glances behind them and back at Uhtred. 

“What will you tell Sigtryggr?” He asks Uhtred softly, tilting his head closer to the Dane. Uhtred shrugs, eyes still scanning the trees. 

“The truth. He knows who the boy is, if he’s going to take him it is unlikely anything I can say will change his mind.” 

“Then why are we going there?” Finan is making fun of Sihtric’s hair now and Uhtred can hear the distinctive sound of calloused hands slapping armour. Osferth glances back and huffs at the childish fight taking place behind them.

Uhtred stops when he spies a rocky overhang up the slope to their right. Looking back, Uhtred meets Finan’s eyes and points over to their destination. Finan nods and they all start up the rise. 

“We’re going there because Edward has just as many enemies in the south as he does in the north, we cannot linger here in the woods forever, and I want to see my daughter.” Unable to argue, Osferth presses his lips together in his standard worried expression and follows his lord up the hill. 

-

The rain, when it comes, is unimpressive and with the cover, Uhtred decides firmly against a fire and his companions agree with little complaint. Sihtric takes the first watch while the rest sleep huddled in a mass of furs on the damp ground. Aethelstan sleeps between Osferth and Finan with Uhtred on the Irishman’s far side. 

When Uhtred wakes, the clouds have passed and the nearly full moon casts shadows among the underbrush. Sihtric isn’t in his same spot, but Uhtred has no doubts that the lanky Dane is nearby. Uhtred gets up to piss and the chill in the air drives him back under the furs until Sihtric reappears. The other man knows Uhtred is to relieve him, but until he shows up, Uhtred prefers not to face the late autumn weather until he has to. 

Finan turns in his sleep away from Aethelstan to face Uhtred’s back and the Dane refrains from turning as well so that he would face the Irishman. There had been no mention of the night at the inn between them, there was no need to really, but Uhtred has often found his fingers wandering to his wrist, tracing over the skin where Finan had brushed his lips. Uhtred is no stranger to intimate relationships, as any of his smirking companions would attest, but this is completely unfamiliar territory for him. Not only is Finan his oldest friend, but Uhtred has never felt drawn to another man in such a way. His mind buzzes trying to place just when his feelings for the Irishman changed, if indeed they have. Part of him wonders if it is just loneliness that causes the flutter in his belly when Finan touches him, cares for him, looks for him across a room. 

Sighing, Uhtred isn’t sure if he’s talking himself into something, or out of it. 

Thankfully Sihtric’s shadow appears at the edge of the camp and Uhtred eases himself out of the nest of furs, trying to disturb the others as little as possible. With only a nod to each other, Sihtric takes his place beside Finan and Uhtred breathes in deeply, taking a position far enough away to see the approaches to their temporary camp. They would make good time today, if the weather continues to hold and he’ll be relieved to have walls between them and whatever trouble is brewing out here in the wild. He shares Osferth’s concerns about the Danes and Aethelstan, but there are only so many options at their fingertips and Uhtred needs to see Stiorra in the flesh and reassure himself that she is safe and well cared for. 

Settling his back against a sturdy tree, Uhtred decides to set his hands to a task in the hope that it will help ease the turbulence in his mind. Sliding Serpent’s Breath free, Uhtred settles the blade across his lap, enjoying the familiar weight, and works methodically at oiling the blade. It is the closest thing to meditation that Uhtred ever engages in, but it is an effective distraction combined with tuning his ears to every falling leaf. It doesn’t last long however, and as the sky begins to lighten, Uhtred is glad they will be on their way soon. Out of eagerness to reach their destination, of course, but also partly to give himself another way to avoid dwelling on the nebulous situation he has found himself in. 

Finan wakes first, exposing Sihtric for a moment as he rises from the bed of furs. Stretching arms over his head, he blinks bleary eyes at Uhtred. 

“All quiet?” Finan asks, yawning widely as he wanders over to join Uhtred who nods in response. The others will have to wake soon as well, but Aethelstan needs rest. He is a stoic boy, perhaps too slow to complain of discomfort, and Uhtred has to remind himself that Aethelstan is still a child. Dropping beside Uhtred, a hand’s breadth between them, Finan settles his back against the tree with his arms draped over bent knees.

“We’ll be in Sigtryggr's lands soon. Travel should be a bit safer.”

“Should be,” Finan echoes, but sounding unconvinced. “How long do you think we’ll stay?” Uhtred sighs, leaning forward and mirroring Finan’s posture. 

“Only fate knows,” Uhtred replies vaguely and Finan snorts loudly. Smiling, Uhtred tilts his head and stares at the Irishman. It is light enough now that Uhtred can make out the laugh lines around Finan’s eyes and the faint scar over his eyebrow. The blow nearly cost Finan his eye, not in battle, but an alehouse brawl that even the Irishman will admit got a bit out of hand. “Well, when your fae creatures start whispering the future to you, perhaps you will be kind enough to share the knowledge with me.”

Grinning, Finan bumps his shoulder against Uhtred’s and answers, “I don’t need a sprite to tell me what to do, Lord. I know my path.” Uhtred rarely knows what to say when faced with Finan’s steadfast conviction and the honest belief in his dark eyes leaves Uhtred mute once again . This doesn’t seem to bother Finan as he stands, groaning the whole way, and with eyes smiling down at Uhtred he says, “Whatever we’re going to do, we should get on. Get these layabouts on the road.” 

-

It is their last night in the woods and Uhtred feels confident enough to light a fire. The drop in temperature the further north they’ve come is also a contributing factor and Uhtred watches Aethelstan’s shivering lessen as the fire catches. It is Osferth’s watch, but none of them feel much like sleeping this evening, happier in the fire’s warm glow after a bitterly cold day trekking through the damp forest. They aren’t far from the city, not even half a day, but there is no point stumbling through the dark.

Finan is guiding Aethelstan through sharpening Soul Stealer and the two are absorbed in their task. SIhtric lays on his side, dozing, and Osferth sits with his head tilted to the stars. Uhtred is watching the lesson, but if he’s honest, he’s less concerned with Aethelstan’s technique than he is with Finan’s hands moving deftly and smoothly along the steel. Like the rest of the Irishman, his hands bear the scars of a violent life, but his fingers are long and graceful as they go through the motions of cleaning the blade. Those hands are as familiar to Uhtred as his own, they have bound his wounds, held him as he wept, cradled his children, and slain his enemies. At this moment though, Uhtred thinks only of them wrapped around his wrist in the dark, warm and solid compared to the fleeting touch of Finan’s lips. The Irishman glances up at Uhtred and the Dane feels absurdly flustered by Finan’s direct gaze through the fire, as though he knows what Uhtred is thinking. Not that Uhtred would be that surprised if he did.

Clearing his throat, Uhtred stands, nodding towards the trees in response to Finan’s inquisitive look at his rushed movements. Finan dips his head in understanding, but Uhtred can feel the other man’s eyes on him as the Dane melts into the darkness. 

Even though they are in safer territory, their close call in Mercia has Uhtred vigilant. Slipping silently through the night, Uhtred is so convinced of his own paranoia born from guilt, that when he hears the tell tale snap of a stick underfoot for half a breath he’s almost convinced that he’s imagined it. As he stills and listens though, the extra senses that years of walking through shadow have bred in him signal that someone is near. 

It doesn’t take him long to find their guest, a single cloaked figure, much closer to their camp than Uhtred would have liked. Scanning the darkened woods for others, Uhtred is fairly confident they are alone and he slinks up behind them, dagger drawn. Despite the bulk of their winter cloak, the man is so slight, as Uhtred takes that last step he starts to wonder if they are a man at all. 

He wraps an arm around their throat and pulls them backwards and Uhtred is only mildly surprised to find his daughter’s startled eyes staring up at him. Alarm turns instantly to joy on her face and Uhtred releases Stiorra only to pull her into his arms. She returns the embrace, arms tight around his waist and when she pulls back, Stiorra grins at him. 

“Sigtryggr is teaching me to walk at night,” she says, eyes scanning the trees and the fearsome Dane appears as though she’s called him. The two men exchange nods in greeting.

“You’re a ways from Eoferwic for a lesson,” Uhtred comments, noticing the seax at Stiorra’s belt. 

She shrugs as Sigtryggr takes his place beside her. “We heard you were coming and wanted to meet you on the road.” There’s something strange in her face, the offhand manner she speaks in and Uhtred’s brow contracts, looking from her to Sigtryggr. 

Sigtryggr doesn’t bother with the same subtly. “A priest is here, from Winchester.”

Uhtred nods, eyes still narrowed. “I know, we met Pyrlig on the road. Eadith traveled with him.” He looks over at Stiorra. “You now Pyrlig well, he is a good man.”

Stiorra’s face is earnest as she explains, “Father Pyrlig hasn’t been hurt. He and Eadith are comfortable in the city, but the news he brings is… “ 

“Troubling,” Sigtryggr finishes for her. 

“How so?” Uhtred asks, thinking of the men they’d encountered, the damage they had seen. 

“A new Earl has landed in East Anglia and they have made their way much further inland than we would like.” Sigtryggr's displeasure is obvious on his face and Uhtred feels the shadow of dread that has been brewing in his gut take solid form and squeeze. 

“We met some of them on the road,” Uhtred says, bitterly, “and saw signs of them throughout Mercia.” 

“We’ve been hearing of them for a while,” Stiorra says seriously, “and Edward seems to think they’ll be tempted to come north with purpose. They have already sent men to test us.” 

Uhtred lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head in doubt. “He may say that, but it is only wishful thinking. They could be trying to fool him. Why come here instead of Wessex?” 

Sigtryggr is the one who answers this time. “Many of the people here are Danes and the rest have become accustomed to us. It is an easier land to rule.”

“But not to keep,” Uhtred counters and Sigtryggr shrugs. 

“If you live for war, that does not matter. It is a challenge, a chance for glory that few men have.”

Uhtred thinks of Aethelflaed again. “What news of Mercia?” 

“Aethelflaed has her soldiers in the southern part of her territory at Edward’s request.” Stiorra says, her anger obvious. 

“Of course,” Uhtred says, shaking his head. “What did Pyrlig have to say then?”

“Edward wants us to march from the north to confront them.” 

Uhtred smirks at the boldness of the kings of Wessex. “Edward wants you to fight Danes for him?”

Sigtryggr nods slowly, but Uhtred sees no trace of offense in the other man’s face. “It is an interesting proposition and not without benefit, but not so long ago he demanded I place not a single toe inside Saxon lands.” The younger warrior stares hard into Uhtred’s face. 

“Are you wondering if you can trust the boy king?” Uhtred asks nonchalantly. 

“Yes,” he answers simply. 

Stiorra is watching them seriously and Uhtred takes a breath at the obvious change in her. It’s only been a few months, but already she is so different, more mature and thoughtful. More like her mother. The mutinous expression on her face at the mention of Edward is all Uhtred though and he feels a fierce swell of pride. In the same moment, he misses Gisela like a physical ache, wishing she had survived to see the woman their daughter is becoming. 

Sighing deeply, Uhtred answers honestly. He trusts his daughter, Sigtryggr is Stiorra’s choice, and Uhtred’s duty is to Edward’s son, not the king. “Edward has a snake who whispers poison in his ear, but the king is a decent man, for the most part. You can trust him to want to keep his territory at all costs. He will fight when it comes to that. Fight alongside him and the Mercians and it will cut your losses.” 

“But who will protect my lands while I go south to fight with the Saxons?” Sigtryggr's face is grave. “We are strong here, but the Northerners and the Scots lurk around every bush. If we are weak, they will strike. But,” Sigtryggr continues, “these new raiders will likely draw back for winter. The snows will be here soon and there will be no war until spring.” 

Sigtryggr has a mind for ruling, Uhtred will give him that and he feels a wave of relief that Stiorra has picked a man who can think. At least a little. 

“Then fortify your city, promise Edward only as many men as you can spare. The Saxons have silver and men and will have more of both come the new year if this is true. Edward has some of his father’s sense. It is an allegiance that is possible while still protecting what is yours.” 

“If you say so, Uhtred,” Sigtryggr replies steadily, but it’s difficult for Uhtred to read his face, especially in the dark. “We’ll talk of this more in the city tomorrow.” 

Uhtred nods and brings Stiorra under his arm, gazing down at her fondly. “Trouble follows wherever you go.” 

Sigtryggr chuckles as Stiorra swats at Uhtred and says, “Lead the way to warmth, Father. It’s freezing out here sneaking around after you.”

-

They’ve been settled in Eoferwic for over a week now and Uhtred is still unsure if he’s made the right decision. He has spent a great deal of his life allowing the will of the gods to guide him, but his faith in himself is not what it used to be. There has been too much destruction left in his wake, Ragnar and Beocca only to start. Now, just as they were supposed to be free of Wessex, its claws have reached out and he feels they are on the cusp of war once again. 

After much discussion, Father Pyrlig had taken his priests and his guards back to Winchester to tell the king an agreement had been made. In the spring, if the earl has not moved on, Sigtryggr and his warriors would join with Mercia and Wessex to rid their lands of the intruders. Sigtryggr seems strangely amused at the turn of events and Uhtred can hardly blame him. He’s lived among the Saxons for decades and Uhtred still cannot understand them. Uhtred knows he and his men will fight alongside Sigtryggr's warriors, but he doesn’t wish to leave the boy, or Eadith behind. Stiorra is to stay in Eoferwic as well, to lead in Sigtryggr's place and that is on Uhtred’s mind as they meet to discuss further fortifications for the city. 

With the ground frozen, or close to it, there is no point in digging post holes, but new palisades can be built and waiting to stand as soon as the ground softens. Sigtryggr invites Uhtred to all meetings of importance, a respectful gesture Uhtred appreciates, but he finds himself exhausted by it all. Like his daughter, trouble seems to follow him wherever he sets his feet. 

They are comfortable in the city though. Sigtryggr and Stiorra allocated a house near the palace for them that Eadith was already settled in when they arrived. For the winter it would do well and Uhtred scolds himself for being battle worn months before the war. A war that may not even happen. The gods love it when men fight, but sometimes other chaos is brewing just out of sight. 

“You look deep in thought, Lord,” Finan says in greeting as he climbs the stairs onto the wall. Uhtred glances over and smiles faintly. 

“Too much to do before winter is over.”

Finan shrugs as he moves to stand beside Uhtred. “That’s alright. We’ll be bored shitless in a week, or so, anyway. May as well keep us busy, so we don’t strangle each other in our sleep.” Uhtred chuckles as Finan grins at him. 

“You have a point.” They stand in silence together and watch the snow fall. It will be dark soon and no doubt Eadith and Osferth will be home cooking a dinner Finan and Uhtred will actually be expected to eat. It is peaceful here on the wall and Uhtred craves the quiet after a tedious day of discussion. The North is beautiful and being so close to Bebbanburg stirs that ancient longing in him. 

“What are we going to do about Aethelstan while we go to war?” Finan asks frankly and Uhtred sighs. He has been pondering the question all afternoon following a conversation with Sigtryggr and while breathing the frigid air Uhtred had come to a solution. To more than one thing really, even though it pains him like a dagger in his side. 

“I spoke to Sigtryggr. Aethelstan will stay here with Stiorra in the palace along with Eadith.” Uhtred faces the wilderness unable to look at Finan as he adds, “And you.”

Finan grabs Uhtred’s forearm immediately, his fingers digging painfully. “That is a fucking joke,” the Irishman snarls in disbelief. Uhtred’s mind flashes to the day of the rain storm. His fear for Finan had distracted him and now that Uhtred is aware of the distraction the Irishman poses, he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. It was consuming him. There is the added logic that Finan is the best choice to protect the king’s son, but Uhtred doesn’t have to pretend to himself that is the real reason. 

Turning towards him, Uhtred lays his hand on top of Finan’s. “I trust no one else to keep him safe, Finan, and I cannot take him to war, once was bad enough.” Uhtred begs Finan to understand with his eyes, but he can feel the tension in the other man and there is thunder in Finan's expression. Suddenly the storm on the Irishman’s face disappears and he withdraws his hand from Uhtred’s arm. 

“Alright,” is all he says and Uhtred’s suspicion knows no bounds. It is the illusion of agreement though, at least and the Dane will take that for tonight. As Hild is fond of reminding him, none can see the future, so it is best not get too invested in one’s plans. 

“Alright,” Uhtred repeats warily and Finan turns back to the stairs. 

“Come on,” Scrunching his face, Finan feigns disgust and mutters, “let’s see what we’re to choke down for dinner tonight. Lord have mercy on us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two down and gods know how many more to go! Have to throw a little plot in there to support the smutty bits that are lurking around the corner. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. All Longing, All the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some moments in between
> 
> TLK Fanficfest Round 3 - At the Alehouse, Huddling for Warmth

Uhtred walks into the alehouse, eyes searching for the familiar shapes of his men, but all he sees are strangers’ faces. He had been meeting with Stiorra. Now that the snow is beginning to melt and war is on the horizon, she and Sigtryggr want to marry before he rides off to battle. The news is bittersweet for Uhtred. It means his daughter truly is grown and ready to start her own family, but he’s pleased she has found a man with strength and ambition. Over the winter, Uhtred has come to know Sigtryggr and he thinks the younger man is sincere in his desire for peace for his people, as much as can be expected in times like these. It’s a goal Uhtred can understand and support and he’s more sure by the day that he will ride south with Sigtryggr when the time comes. He isn’t sure how Edward and Aethelflaed will react to his presence at the Dane’s side, but Alfred’s children made their peace with Sigtryggr and they are the ones inviting his warriors into their kingdoms which indicates at least some expectation of mutual gain and perhaps respect. 

All of this is on Uhtred’s mind as he continues to scan the alehouse’s patrons and at first his eyes skim over Eadith completely. On the second pass though, Uhtred is surprised to see her auburn head turned down as she stares into her cup. Frowning, Uhtred weaves between the tables, coming to a stop in front of her. He takes the seat across the table and she gives him a small smile. 

“An odd place to find you,” Uhtred comments, looking around threateningly at the assortment of men in the vicinity of her table. They all drop their eyes, Uhtred’s reputation and status are well known, but he still doesn’t love the idea of her by herself in such a place. He likes Eadith, she’s proven to be a reliable friend to them all. “Why are you here?”

Her fingers tap the outside of her cup lightly and she rolls her lips as she meets his eyes. “I’m not really sure,” she says, giving a half smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Uhtred frowns, watching the myriad of emotions rippling over her face and her distress is clear. “Did something happen to you?” He nearly growls. Although he had promised Sigtryggr he would not shed blood in the city, exceptions could certainly be made. 

Eadith shakes her head quickly. “No, nothing like that,” she murmurs, quiet for a breath. When she looks up again, she flashes him a slight, but genuine smile. “Would you run off like my noble protector to hack away at whomever had wronged me?”

Grinning, Uhtred raises one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “If the occasion called for it. I may not be noble, but I will always protect you.” 

Tears well in Eadith’s eyes suddenly and Uhtred is alarmed. Eyes wide, he scrambles to think of what he’s said, but seeing his panic, Eadith waves a hand at him. “It’s not you,” she says, blowing a deep breath out through her mouth. Clearing her throat, Eadith wipes at one eye and sits straighter before brushing her hair back over her shoulder and giving him a piercing look. Wary, Uhtred waits for her to speak first. 

“I wasn’t sure when I met you, Uhtred Ragnarson, but I think you are a good man.” She says the words as though she is somewhat surprised to have come to this conclusion and Uhtred raises his eyebrows, amused. Eadith continues, her eyes still roaming his face pensively. “You are brave and kind, even if you are impulsive and a shocking amount of trouble. I can see why there is such a line into your bed.” 

True surprise widens Uhtred’s eyes. “I didn’t know you were interested-” he starts, but Eadith cuts him off. 

“I’m not,” she says definitely, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just saying I understand it.”

Eadith seems more composed now, but Uhtred has lost the thread of the conversation. “What does this have to do with you being upset?”

“Nothing,” she says shortly, then asks him, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Finan and Osferth,” Uhtred answers, seeing that she doesn’t want to talk about it, at least not with him. 

Eadith nods slowly. “I don’t know where Osferth is, but Finan was on the wall when I left him.” 

Finan and Eadith have become close friends since she started traveling with them and Uhtred hadn’t missed the way she would gaze at the Irishman when the dark-haired man’s back was turned. Most of Uhtred is happy for Finan to have found a beautiful woman who is brave and intelligent, but there is a small knot of jealousy he buries as deeply as he can when he sees them laughing together. This makes the downturn of Eadith’s lips as she mentions his name especially interesting to Uhtred. 

“Did you argue?” Uhtred asks, more curious than he should be. 

“I wouldn’t say we argued,” she says slowly, “but it wasn’t a happy conversation. I thought-” Eadith cuts herself off and a muscle twitches in her cheek. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, her voice thick. Clearing her throat again, Eadith’s tone is brisk as she rises from the table. “I think Osferth was going to take Aethelstan to pray. I’m sure he won’t mind if we disturb them.”

Uhtred watches her carefully, desperately wanting to pry and ashamed of himself for the rise in his gut at the possibilities her apparently disappointing conversation with Finan suggest. His better nature, the one that doesn’t spend far too long contemplating the texture of Finan’s skin as they sit next to each other, wins out and he rises with her, forcing what he hopes is a convincing smile. “You know he hates that.”

“Well,” Eadith declares as she breezes past him, “you don’t always get what you want.” 

-

Uhtred sits on his boulder, encased in furs. The weather is warming everyday, but it’s late, the moon is high and he cannot sleep. Hasn’t been able to sleep for quite a few days now and so he sits out here on his customary perch just far enough from the city for true silence and watches the water slide by. He sits and thinks and wonders how he’s come to all this. While he should be gathering his strength and forging his legacy by recapturing Bebbanburg for Stiorra’s sons, he sits and plays nursemaid to Alfred’s grandson and pines. 

The yearning for Bebbanburg is an old hurt, one that sharpens and wanes whenever it sees fit, but the yearning he feels for Finan is a more tenacious beast. For Uhtred cannot deny it now, his fascination with the Irishman has persisted and Uhtred can claim loneliness no more. They’ve been surrounded by people, too many arguably, and there are opportunities with women, but yet Uhtred cannot bring himself to it. He has also made a deliberate effort to exclude himself from any conversation regarding Finan’s prospects. Although Uhtred hasn’t noticed Finan interacting significantly with women other than Stiorra and Eadith, he makes a concentrated effort not to take that for fact, or view it with hope. 

Groaning, Uhtred dips chin to chest. He is so bored. Bored of the peace and the monotony of waiting for war in a place that is not his home and so he spends too much time obsessing. While the prospect of battle seemed unwelcome when they arrived, now Uhtred’s sword hand itches incessantly. Sparring helps, but when Finan fights, even if he isn't sparring with Uhtred, the Dane is distracted by the fierce delight in the Irishman’s eyes as he dances around and his triumphant grin as he leaves his opponent in the dust. Thankfully Uhtred has been able to keep his distraction discreet, but he caught Sihtric giving him a strange look that morning while Uhtred had been busy memorizing the back of Finan’s neck as he walked in front of them. 

Hild is right. He is a fool. 

“Are you hoping to become one with the boulder, Lord?” Finan’s voice sounds quietly behind him and Uhtred nearly jumps out of his skin. Turning his head sharply, Uhtred frowns at the other man. 

“What are you doing out here?” He asks, annoyed that the force of his thoughts has summoned the Irishman. Facing the river again, Uhtred tucks his furs more tightly around himself. 

“No need to be cross,” Finan says lightly, “I woke and saw you were gone.” 

Guilt at his short temper pierces him and Uhtred’s tone settles as he asks, “And you thought to look here?” Coming around, Finan gestures at the empty space left on the large flat rock and Uhtred nods, moving over slightly. 

“Osferth mentioned you’ve been coming out here at night,” Finan explains, rubbing his hands together. Without thinking, Uhtred lifts the fur from his side and offers cover under the thick hide to Finan. The other man accepts, shifting closer to Uhtred to fit under the warmth. Despite his internal struggle, it is completely natural for Uhtred to care for Finan as the Irishman cares for him. Although currently, that instinct has left him in a less than desirable position as Finan’s hip presses against him and the heat from his body seeps steadily into Uhtred. “Which I thought was a bit odd, but you’ve done stranger.”

Uhtred smiles at the water. “That is true.” Sighing, he admits, “I have been wondering if we are on the right path.” 

“What makes you think we’re not?” Finan asks.

“I had thought to be Lord of Bebbanburg by now and even as we are close, I feel farther than ever.”

Finan sighs and Uhtred looks over to see him nodding. “You’re right, in a way, but surely you’ve learned by now that we can only set one foot in front of the other. We stay alive and we look out for each other and one day we will be north again, pounding like the hounds of hell on her gates.” Uhtred chuckles as Finan grins over at him. “You are not so old, Uhtred, even if you feel like some days. Try to remember that. You have a few good battles left in you, I’m sure of it.” 

“As do you, old friend,” Uhtred says, nudging Finan with his shoulder. Sobering, Uhtred adds seriously, “I will miss you on the field next to me when we ride south.” Finan is strangely silent as he nods, face turned forwards. Uhtred hesitates. They haven’t spoken of Uhtred’s plans since that evening on the wall and he’d been puzzled and concerned at the lack of complaints from the Irishman about it since. “Finan,” Uhtred prompts, wanting his friend to speak his mind. 

The Irishman shrugs, his shoulder brushing against Uhtred’s, and remains facing the water. “I’ll do as you ask,” he says simply, but there is something that bothers Uhtred, some evasiveness that he can feel in Finan’s answer. 

“You will stay with Osferth to protect Aethelstan and when the fighting is over, we’ll rejoin you here.” Uhtred confirms watching Finan’s face closely.

“Of course,” Finan answers quickly, “as we agreed, I will protect Aethelstan.” 

Narrowing his eyes at the side of Finan’s face, Uhtred adds, “You will protect him here.” 

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Finan tilts his head at Uhtred, looking at him as though he is particularly thick. “The boy will be fine, no need to worry your dear little head about it.”

Uhtred presses his lips together, eyes still narrowed, but Finan only widens his eyes innocently. Shaking his head, Uhtred breathes out and smiles wryly. “What am I going to do with you?”

Responding to Uhtred’s smile with one of his own, Finan pulls the fur more closely around him, shrinking the space between them. “You’ll figure it out,” he says firmly, eyes soft with affection. Uhtred snorts to cover the blush rising in his cheeks and returns his gaze to the water wishing he had the Irishman’s confidence. 

-

The palisades are built, the city fortified, and Father Pyrlig has come and gone once again. Uhtred sits in Sigtryggr’s council room, an airy stone chamber not unlike Alfred’s reading room, and listens to his men argue about the best route to take south. Sigtryggr and his men are relatively new to the land, but their suggestions have merit. For now, Uhtred is content to wait and to listen. Alfred demonstrated the value of this, time and again. When he was younger, Uhtred had no tolerance for the stupidity of other men, but despite what Hild may say, he is growing more patient, little by little.

Deliberations go on for a while longer and eventually they settle on a route that even Uhtred agrees with. He is glad to see men under Sigtryggr who are not complete turds. Uhtred had asked Sigtryggr if he knew where Haesten had landed, the biggest turd of them all, and the younger Dane’s face had been serious when he mentioned East Anglia. Haesten didn’t have many men, but there is little doubt in Uhtred’s mind the coward would be on the battlefield. A despicable, opportunistic creature if there ever was one.

The last of Sigtryggr's leaders vacate the chamber and Uhtred is left alone with the man who is to marry his daughter the next day. They would ride to war the day after that and Uhtred feels the anticipation of battle clash strongly with his concern for those who will be left behind. Sigtryggr isn’t wrong to fear an attack on the city in his absence. The North is wild and the men who rule it are without mercy. 

“We aren’t leaving enough men,” Sigtryggr declares, fists on the table as he stares down at the map. There’s no fear on his face, but Uhtred knows the Dane is worried for his people, his new wife chief among them. Uhtred shares his worry, of course, but they would be safer here within the new and improved walls than with the warriors on the field. 

“The walls are finished and reinforced and there are men here to hold them. We cannot leave anymore behind.” A muscle jumps in Sigtryggr’s jaw as he looks up at Uhtred. “Finan and Stiorra will hold the city.” There is no doubt in Uhtred’s voice just as there is no doubt in his mind, Finan and Stiorra will protect Eoferwic. Hell, Uhtred would feel safer with the Irishman by his side. A fact he swallows bitterly. In his cowardice, Uhtred had sought to keep Finan away, but as the day of their departure looms, Uhtred feels a creeping dread leaving Finan behind. They’ve only been separated a handful of times over the years and it feels wrong to be marching without him. 

Uhtred knows it is the best choice, Finan and the men Sigtryggr leaves behind will keep Stiorra, Aethelstan and the rest safe, but it doesn’t make him any happier about it. Sigtryggr doesn’t look particularly happy about leaving his bride either, but Uhtred had seen the gleam in his eye when he spoke of the battle. He is as eager as Uhtred to shake off a long, tedious winter of waiting and building with some bloodshed. 

“The priest says Edward’s spies are certain the Earl is preparing to march. Why should we not just leave before, cut them off on the road?”

Uhtred leans forward. “If their numbers are what Pyrlig says, we shouldn’t risk engaging them in the field without Mercia at least. We will need them to win without a slaughter.” 

Sigtryggr breathes deeply before nodding, conceding. “Edward and Aethelflaed will meet us in Mercia and we’ll form a wall to the east to put an end to this. It sounds simple enough.”

“It always does,” Uhtred says, staring at Sigtryggr. “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking of the strangeness of fighting with the Saxons to kill Danes.”

“It will keep your people, your city, safer.”

“And it will breed new enemies I cannot yet see,” Sigtryggr counters, face dark. “The little king best bring the silver and gold as promised. More men will be needed after the battle to take the place of those who fall.”

“Wessex has no shortage of wealth, no matter how piously they simper. I wouldn’t worry about that.” Uhtred says, standing. Sigtryggr smirks, running a hand across the map. 

“Through this alliance, we creep closer to the dead king’s vision. A land united.” Staring at Uhtred as though he’s trying to see through him, Sigtryggr takes a step closer. “How do you think Alfred would feel about this turn of events?”

Uhtred laughs abruptly and walks over to the door. He stops at the room’s threshold and looks back at Sigtryggr. “The priests may sing the praises of their godly king, but he was ruthless and cunning. Alfred would have crushed them when they dared to first step foot out of East Anglia. He would think us fools.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Beloved Reader, next we'll have a wedding and perhaps a little bloodshed. We'll see where the afternoon takes us. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! ♡  
> Apologies for any errors, feeling lazy this morning.


	4. Someday the grapes will be wine and someday you will be mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finan and Uhtred come to an understanding and the warriors begin their march.
> 
> TLK Fanficfest Round 3 - Bathing in the river

The morning of the wedding Uhtred wakes early while the night still rules. He had told Aethelstan they would hunt and then swim in the river before the ceremony that afternoon. Even though the sun hasn’t risen, the boy rouses quickly and follows Uhtred silently from their home. Normally, Finan would accompany them, but the Irishman had overindulged with Sihtric the night before to the point where Uhtred is unsure if they will be able to walk straight today. 

Uhtred had helped the incoherent Finan into his bed, his own head swimming slightly from the ale, and thought he had heard the Irishman whisper, ‘Stay,’ as Uhtred deposited him in bed. The mattress, while not terribly comfortable, had done the trick though and Finan was asleep as soon as he left Uhtred’s arms. The single, soft word had echoed in Uhtred’s brain as he found his own bed and long into his dreams. 

A sneaking suspicion has been forming in Uhtred’s brain that Finan may share the feelings Uhtred has been hiding for so many months. At first the Dane thought it was merely wishful thinking, but more and more Uhtred sees heat in Finan’s eyes when they meet Uhtred’s across the table, or the sparring circle. Also, Finan’s touches, once familiar and harmless, seem to be lingering until Uhtred has to escape in order to catch his breath. 

Having spent so long suppressing his own feelings, Uhtred finds himself particularly ill-equipped to deal with Finan’s. There had been a grave expression on Finan’s face the day before when Uhtred had announced their leaving and it took a significant effort for Uhtred not to cross the room and gather the Irishman into his arms. 

For now though, Uhtred just has to get Aethelstan to catch something decent to justify being out at the crack of dawn, a hare at least would be respectable. Setting his mind to the task, Uhtred walks through the barely stirring streets with the boy at his side.

-

Uhtred sits cross legged on his broad, flat rock, back to the sun, and watches Aethelstan wading in the shallows looking for frogs. One of the things Uhtred loves about this spot is that it is far enough upriver that the water runs clear compared to the stretch of water downriver from Eoferwic. The boy did well that morning and the rabbits they snared hang from a nearby tree waiting for them to return to the city, but they aren’t due back for a while still.

Sitting in just his breeches, Uhtred relishes the warmth of the sun on his back as it dries his hair which hangs loose around his shoulders. His hand strokes his beard and he picks up his newly sharpened knife meaning to trim the hair that is threatening to take over his jaw. It would be easier with his reflection from the water to help guide him, but Uhtred cannot be bothered to crouch by the river’s edge and his hands go through the familiar motions by feel. 

There’s a rustling in the tall grass that surrounds their discrete watering hole and Uhtred’s grip on his knife tightens. Osferth appears on the dirt path and Uhtred relaxes. Finan follows closely behind him, looking like death warmed over. Uhtred grins as they approach the water and Osferth returns the smile, but Finan makes a pained face. 

“Looking a little green this morning,” Uhtred comments with a smirk as Finan passes him. The Irishman only groans in response, shading his eyes from the bright morning sun and stops at the water’s edge. Aethelstan comes over to show Finan the frog he has cupped gently between his hands and despite his hangover, Finan makes appropriately impressed noises over the boy’s catch. 

Osferth starts shrugging off his clothes. “It’ll be a beautiful day for the wedding, Lord,” he says, tiptoeing into the cool water. 

Uhtred grunts in the affirmative, focusing on the scrape of the blade against his skin, and keeping his eyes averted from Finan as he sheds his clothes to join Aethelstan and Osferth in the water. He and Finan have bathed together thousands of times surely, but the more preoccupied he had grown with the Irishman, the more Uhtred shied away from ritual. It had been easy enough in the winter, Finan has no appetite for frigid water and would settle for a shallow tub set before the hearth, whereas Uhtred always prefers fresh water, no matter if he has to break through a little ice to get to it. 

“Where’s Sihtric?” Uhtred asks, lifting the knife from his face for a moment and Finan chuckles hoarsely from the river where he floats with only his head and shoulders exposed. 

“He’s, uh, feeling worse for wear, Lord. Said he’d be along shortly, but I wouldn’t wait on him.” 

“You two certainly started the celebrations early last night,” Osferth notes with an amused look. Finan splashes him and Aethelstan. The boy grins as he skips out of the water onto the shore. 

“Well, not all of us can have your restraint, Baby Monk. Although I distinctly remember seeing you about to be wrapped around that questionable looking whore-”

“Finan!” Osferth exclaims outraged, gesturing broadly towards where Aethelstan stands on the bank pulling on his tunic. 

Uhtred and Finan laugh loudly at the younger man’s expense as he reddens despite the river’s chill. It may be spring, but the water still nips at the skin. Aethelstan smiles quietly, used to their crude humour by now and unbothered by their teasing of each other. The boy pulls on his pants and looks to Uhtred as he says, “I’m hungry, can I go back to Eadith?” 

Uhtred looks him over for traces of mud before replying, “Aye, you’ll do. Make sure to leave all your frogs here. I can’t imagine Eadith would be pleased to see them hopping around the house.” Aethelstan smiles shyly and releases the miniature frog he still has cupped in the hand behind his back. 

“I’ll go with you,” Osferth says, shooting Finan a dirty look. The Irishman blows him a kiss and Osferth rolls his eyes as he emerges from the stream. 

“Take your rabbits,” Uhtred directs Aethelstan, attempting to distract himself from the fact that soon he will be alone with a naked Finan. A mixed blessing, at best.

Finan’s eyes are fixed on Aethelstan and Osferth as they disappear together through the grass and he shakes his head, face thoughtful. “Strange, isn’t it?”

“What?” Uhtred asks, feeling his face for uneven spots. 

“Those two,” Finan says, nodding towards the path as he sweeps handfuls of water over his shoulders. 

“Odd ducks, the pair,” Uhtred acknowledges, brushing off his lap. His hair is so long now, it cascades over his shoulder as he bends his head forward and the ends skim his knee. Finan doesn’t respond and when Uhtred glances over there’s no sign of him. He surfaces soon after though, exhaling loudly and wiping the water from his face and beard with both hands. Shaking his head, Finan blinks wide eyes for a moment. 

“Sweet Jesus, we drank a little last night, eh?” he says, grimacing and wiping across his face with a long-fingered hand. Uhtred shifts on his rock, so he faces the sun with his back half turned to Finan. Closing his eyes at the brightness, Uhtred starts combing through his hair with his fingers.

“I’m surprised you and Sihtric didn’t drink them dry,” he jokes, pulling another section of hair over his shoulder. It’s a tranquil scene, regardless of Uhtred’s inner turmoil, and with his eyes closed, he has a greater appreciation for the sun on his face, the warmth of the stone beneath him and the soft sounds of Finan nearby. Breathing deeply, Uhtred vows to remember this moment a handful of days from now when he is knee deep in mud and carnage. 

“We did our best, but we are only two men,” Finan says regretfully and Uhtred can hear him leaving the river. 

“Well, hopefully you fare better at the wedding tonight.” 

“It’ll be a struggle, but I think I’m up for it.” Finan shuffles around behind him for a moment pulling on trousers before joining Uhtred on the rock. Beads of water drip from Finan’s hair and hit Uhtred’s heated skin. He frowns over his shoulder at Finan, but the Irishman just grins before reaching his hands up to Uhtred’s hair. 

Even while he is careful of their contact, not wanting to take advantage of Finan’s affectionate nature, this is one thing Uhtred will not give up. Finan has been braiding his hair since they met aboard Sverri’s ship and for years the Irishman had relinquished the duty to Gisela, but after her passing, Finan took it over once again. Hild had had a poorly disguised grin on her face when she told Uhtred that she had caught Sihtric teaching Finan different techniques with a young Stiorra supervising. 

So, it is with a quiet heart, free of guilt, that Uhtred sits there and enjoys the feel of Finan’s practiced fingers working carefully through his hair. It doesn’t take long and Uhtred turns to thank Finan. The words are barely out of his mouth when Finan’s eyebrows draw together and he stops Uhtred from turning back with a hand on his jaw. Uhtred freezes. 

“You’re a little crooked here,” Finan says amused, eyebrow raised. “Too busy sunning yourself to get up and take a look?” Tilting his head towards the water, he releases Uhtred’s jaw and picks up his knife still laying on the stone. Spinning his finger in a circle, Finan waits patiently for Uhtred to settle in front of him. Focusing on his breathing, Uhtred gazes over Finan’s shoulder as the Irishman corrects Uhtred’s apparent sloppiness. 

One of Finan’s hands cups the back of Uhtred’s head with a thumb resting beneath the Dane’s ear as the knife scrapes against his face gently. Finan releases Uhtred while giving his face a critical eye. Uhtred rolls his eyes and asks with a grin, “What about you? You’re more beard than man these days.” 

Finan smiles crookedly as he rubs a hand over his beard. “You don’t like it?” 

Uhtred shrugs, and answers honestly. “I like to see your face.” 

Without hesitating, Finan flips the knife in his hand and offers it to Uhtred handle first with eyebrows raised. Taking the knife, Uhtred asks, “You’re sure?”

“Just don’t nick my throat open,” Finan teases and sits still, eyes smiling as Uhtred leans in, shaking his head. They are both quiet while Uhtred trims away the extra layers of beard Finan has been growing all winter. Uhtred doesn’t shave down to Finan’s skin, but removes the bulk of the hair and tidies the sides and under his chin. It is peaceful as Uhtred concentrates on keeping his lines even and Finan’s skin whole.

It isn’t until he’s finished and starts brushing the fallen hairs from Finan’s naked shoulders does Uhtred realize how close they are, how Finan’s hands are resting on the Dane’s knees like two separate brands. Leaning back, Uhtred meets Finan’s eyes and they are dark even as the Irishman asks lightly, “What do you think?” Finan tilts his head back, to either side, with a slight smile and Uhtred has to swallow before he can answer. 

“Much better,” he manages quietly, unsure what to do with his hands now, but Finan solves the dilemma for him. Taking Uhtred’s hands in his, Finan holds Uhtred’s gaze and the world around them mutes. Uhtred can only watch, spellbound, as Finan leans forward and presses their foreheads together. They stay like that for a moment, breath mingling, until Finan closes that last inch between them. 

With the light pressure of Finan’s lips on his, a dam bursts in Uhtred’s chest and he breaks the other man’s loose grip on his hands and holds Finan to him with a firm hand anchored in his still dampened hair. Finan gasps under the passion of Uhtred’s assault and the Dane feels the sound reverberate through his body.

They are so consumed with each other that neither hears the approaching footsteps over soft ground. It isn’t until Sihtric clears his throat that either Uhtred, or Finan notice his presence and as they practically jump apart, Uhtred thanks the gods it wasn’t anyone else. 

Although Uhtred begins to rethink that as a smug smile spreads broadly across Sihtric’s face as he looks back and forth between them. Finan coughs, poorly disguising his laughter, and Uhtred just shakes his head, rolling his eyes skyward. 

“Stiorra is asking for you, Uhtred,” Sihtric begins, nearly choking on his laughter, “but, uh, I can tell her you’re busy.” Even when Uhtred chucks the closest rock at hand at him, Sihtric still grins from ear to ear. Uhtred glances over at Finan and his heart contracts almost painfully at the happiness he sees on the Irishman’s face. Even as relief and love flood his chest, Uhtred cannot help, but think of the next morning when he will have to ride away. Thrusting the bleak thought into the corner of his mind, Uhtred grins with them and tucks away the feeling of Finan’s mouth on his for the dark nights soon to come. 

-

They leave Eoferwic in a parade of horses and Uhtred forces himself to remain facing forward from his place at Sigtryggr’s side. The morning is cool compared to the cloudless heat of the day before and the column is quiet as they set off south into the woods. As always when he rides to battle, Uhtred must temper the part of him that frets for those left behind. It feels strange to have only Sihtric at his side and Uhtred swallows against the sense of loss he feels knowing that Finan and Osferth are standing on the battlements watching them go. 

The wedding had been a joyous affair, made perhaps even more so by the looming battle, and none present were more breathtaking than Uhtred’s daughter. He is content to see her settled and Uhtred had spoken the truth to Sigtryggr that Stiorra would make a powerful wife, not that the Danish warrior needed Uhtred to tell him. Uhtred had been simultaneously happy and on edge throughout the evening. Pleased for Stiorra, and proud, but also maddened by Finan’s proximity combined with a lack of privacy to address their shared moment by the river. The soft smiles sent his way from the Irishman throughout the day did little to calm the storm in Uhtred’s chest.

It wasn’t until night settled and they had all tumbled into bed that they had any peace. Uhtred had lain awake, listening to the fading sounds of the revelry outside, when he heard the soft shuffle of blankets from across the room. Twisting over, Uhtred had watched Finan slip silently across the wooden floor towards him and anticipatory shivers raced across Uhtred’s skin. He had lifted the blankets and Finan slid beneath them and wedged himself firmly against Uhtred on the narrow mattress. Osferth was snoring away in the next bed over, but Uhtred had pulled Finan into a demanding kiss all the same knowing it may be their last for a while. Perhaps forever, the morbid voice in his skull had whispered. 

When Sihtric grunted and rolled over in his sleep though, Uhtred had pulled back reluctantly and settled for brushing his nose against the skin under Finan’s ear and inhaling deeply, adding the Irishman’s unique smell to the stash of memories Uhtred hoards away. 

Finan’s lips had grazed the outside shell of Uhtred’s ear as he whispered, “You had best come back to me, you mad bastard.” 

The memory of the sensation as he marches away from Eoferwic and Finan has Uhtred breathing out through his nose and feeling relieved Finan hadn’t asked to come with them in that moment for the Dane doesn’t think he would have been able to refuse. Especially given that he’s half a breath away from wheeling his horse around and demanding Finan ride with them now. They had made a plan though, and Uhtred intends to follow through with it and he does feel a different kind of relief knowing that Stiorra and Aethelstan are under Finan’s protection. 

Seeming to divine Uhtred’s mood, Sihtric starts talking to him casually about the wedding, the road ahead, and a handful of other random topics. Grateful for the younger man’s efforts, Uhtred focuses on the conversation and feels the crushing weight of his worry fade from the front of his mind. 

They ride for two more days and the weather cooperates, staying mild and clear, and Uhtred begins to think they will arrive ahead of time. On the third, they wake to drilling rain and Uhtred and Sihtric grumble to each other as they ride through the muck. It is in this downpour, half a day’s ride from their meeting place with Aethelflaed and Edward, that the forest erupts around them in a flurry of howling warriors and flashing steel. 

In that final breath before the chaos consumes them, Uhtred meets Sigtryggr’s rage-filled eyes and knows with a grim certainty that they have been betrayed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are weekends for if not cliffhangers? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! And special thanks to Kirsten for nudging it along ♡♡


	5. An Old, Familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred returns to Eoferwic, but not as he expected. 
> 
> TLK Fanficfest Round 3 - Shield Wall, Praying to the gods before battle

The thunder of battle is indescribable. As Uhtred wheels his horse around trying to see anything through the gray wash of the storm and the rain his senses are assaulted by the ferocious screams of their enemies and Sigtryggr’s roars for the shield wall. As always in war there are moments that seem to slow as the mind struggles to keep pace with racing hearts and practiced bodies and Uhtred finds himself grasping for Thor’s hammer at his throat even as he pulls Serpent’s Breath free and slices into the first fool to come within reach of his horse. 

Uhtred was taught from childhood that the whims of the gods shape the destiny of all men and even as his lips form a silent prayer for victory and for the safety of the warriors alongside him, he resigns himself to whatever fate lies ahead. 

Sigtryggr’s voice booms out again and they are able to beat back the attackers enough to bring their shields together, forming two walls and facing off on either side of the road against their adversaries. Already the moans of the dead and dying fill the air and in the split second of peace, Uhtred realizes that while the enemy came from either side of the woods, their numbers are not as great as he had thought. The surprise was their strategy and they had clearly underestimated the discipline and skill of Sigtryggr’s warriors. Uhtred looks for Sigtryggr frantically. If the men from Eoferwic can hold strong, they can win the day, even if it is at a great cost. On the heels of this thought comes panic, for if only some of the Earl’s men are here, that means the rest are occupied elsewhere and this far north, there are very few options as to where the rest could be skulking. Nostrils flaring, Uhtred screams alongside Sihtric, using his fear to fuel his rage and the clash of shields and weapons takes over. 

A warrior Uhtred does not know takes Finan’s normal place beside him and Uhtred suppresses the sudden stab of regret. If he is to die here, he wishes only that the Irishman were here to fall with him. A selfish, crazed thought, but as he thrusts his sword through the gaps into yielding flesh, Uhtred can think of nothing else. If Eoferwic is taken, Finan must die with sword in hand, or they will be separated on that final journey and the desperation this thought breeds in Uhtred forces a primal scream from the Dane’s throat and gives him power. 

The fighting lasts an eternity and in the low light of the clouds, Uhtred feels as though he is stuck in a purgatory of blood and chaos. Suddenly the attackers’ wall breaks somewhere down the line and men are everywhere, blades flashing dully in the rain. Uhtred has lost sight of Sigtryggr and he whips his head around and manages to spot Sihtric through the fray. Turning back, Uhtred’s eyes catch on a familiar face. 

Haesten fights surrounded by his men and the bitter contempt Uhtred feels for the other man nearly chokes him. Blinded by rage and thirst for blood, Uhtred surges through the clashing bodies towards the handful of men. So complete is his fury that Uhtred doesn’t hear the calls for their enemy to retreat. The other warriors begin to flee back into the trees and some of Sigtryggr’s men follow close behind, howling. Finally seeing Uhtred, Haesten’s eyes widen and he slaps the man to his right, his repugnant mouth moving urgently. The warrior grabs Haesten and they follow the retreating men. Uhtred sprints after them, viciously eager to see Haesten’s blood on his sword and calling blindly over his shoulder for men to follow, but Haesten and his man are waiting for him just over the ridge.

Uhtred never remembers the impact, only Hasten’s smirking face and the great dark thereafter. 

-

He comes around slowly. 

At first Uhtred is only aware of the swaying motion of the horse underneath him and the pounding ache at his left temple. Voices start to filter through the fog and Uhtred realizes sickly that he’s been captured. Trying to recall what happened, Uhtred tries not to move and alert his captors to the fact that he’s awake. When he hears Haesten’s unpleasantly distinctive voice, Uhtred seethes with hatred. This is followed almost immediately by a massive swell of guilt and dread as he ponders the fate of Sihtric and her daughter’s husband. 

The battle seemed to be turning in their favour from what Uhtred can remember, so he has to hope they are alive and on their way back to Eoferwic. Uhtred desperately hopes they find the city whole and unmolested. It seems unlikely the Earl would have split his men in such a way unless there is something else afoot. Pyrlig had said they had more than twice the number Uhtred had guessed were on the battlefield. The Earl had sent just enough men to badly wound Sigtryggr and, if the favour of the gods had been tilted  _ just so _ , it could have been enough to destroy them. Where the rest of his warriors are, Uhtred can only guess, but his gut tells him the Earl has his eyes set upon Eoferwic and Sigtryggr’s seat. 

What remains unknown is how the invader came to know of their travel plans. It’s possible that there is a spy among Sigtryggr’s men, but that seems unlikely. They had only given a single day’s notice of their departure and the attack had come so close to the city, the Earl and his men must have been much closer than East Anglia. The idea that Edward is to blame lurks on the fringes of Uhtred’s thoughts, but he has a hard time believing it. Sigtryggr is strong, stronger than Edward and certainly Aethelflaed would like, but he had proven he could be reasoned with. Having been raised by Alfred, Edward would know the value of this and Uhtred thinks it unlikely that the young king would entrap them in such a way. Aethelflaed is a more subtle operator than her brother, but this isn’t her work, that Uhtred is certain of. 

The horse Uhtred is draped across comes to a sudden halt and he grunts loudly as he is shoved to the ground. Squinting through the blaring pain in his head, Uhtred grimaces at Haesten standing over top of him, grinning broadly. 

“It is very good to see you, Lord Uhtred. It has really been much too long.”

“Haesten, how surprising,” Uhtred says snidely, rolling onto his shoulder. Haesten’s man grabs his arm roughly and drags Uhtred to his knees.

“I cannot begin to tell you how pleased I am,” Haesten begins and Uhtred smirks. 

“Are you so thick that you have already forgotten you lost the battle?” This dims Haesten’s malicious grin and he nods at the men flanking Uhtred. One of them leans forward and drives his fist into Uhtred's gut and he doubles with the force of the blow. Gasping quietly, Uhtred growls as the man’s hand rips at his hair as he jerks Uhtred upright. 

“The battle was only one part of the plan,” Haesten says, face sour before a small measure of glee shows on his face. “The rest of your suffering is to come at Eoferwic.” Uhtred’s heart sinks as his fears are confirmed, but he keeps the despair from his face. “I’ll keep you alive to see that and then I will kill you after you watch what I do to your daughter.”

Uhtred swallows, his face twisting with disgust, “That hasn’t worked well for you in the past, Haesten. Fight me here instead-” 

Haesten cuts him off, laughing wickedly. “I don’t think so, Dane-Slayer. I’ve already told you your future, best spend the time getting used to it.” Uhtred snarls, but Haesten ignores him, gesturing at the ham-fisted man, apparently named Burgred, with an uncompromising grip on Uhtred’s shoulder. Suddenly a thick loop of hemp is thrust over Uhtred’s neck and tightened. He struggles against the restraint and Burgred’s fist connects with Uhtred’s eye and the blow leaves him dazed. The other end of the rope is attached to Haesten’s saddle and Uhtred staggers as the first few steps of the horse pull on the noose. Uhtred hisses with the pain as the coarse rope rubs against his skin and he meets Haesten’s smiling eyes with hatred. 

“This is how I like you, Uhtred, but the best is yet to come.”

-

They travel through the thickly wooded forest to meet with the rest of the Earl’s men and no doubt to avoid Sigtryggr. Even with his depleted force, the younger man had shown his warriors are a force to be reckoned with and Haesten is rarely a risk taker. Indeed, Uhtred finds it curious that Haesten was leading such a risky attack in the first place. The fat turd is always overconfident, but Uhtred guesses it has just as much to do with fear of the Earl as ambition.

Uhtred would ask Haesten, but the noose has rubbed his neck raw and he can only focus on setting one foot ahead of the other in the difficult, uneven terrain of the woods. He is a turbulent mass of bleak emotions as he imagines the scene that will await them when they reach the city. The possibilities play in his head repeatedly as they travel, the thought of Finan and Stiorra, faces bloodied and slack, makes his stomach roil and churn. 

At the end of the second day of their damnable march, a messenger rides out of the darkening woods and towards Haesten. Uhtred can only hear fragments of their whispered conversation as Haesten steps away from his horse to speak with the man. He hears enough to know that the Earl has already moved on the city and wants Haesten and his men to proceed directly to Eoferwic. Uhtred breathes out deeply with relief. They have not yet taken the city and Sigtryggr is not far behind Haesten, half a day, at most.

The news fills Uhtred’s chest with hope. Sigtryggr is alive and he knows the city is in danger. If Edward isn’t to blame for the circumstances, Sigtryggr may be able to hold off the Earl’s attempted siege until the soldiers of Wessex come to their aid. If they come to their aid. 

Uhtred hopes Sigtryggr has sent a messenger to summon his allies. Regardless of the recent change of events, Uhtred prays the king and his sister honour their agreement to fight with Sigtryggr against their common enemy. Bending his chin as much as the rope will allow, Uhtred prays for the gods to whisper in Sihtric’s ear and send the fleet-footed Dane south to Aethelflaed. There will be little hope without them.

-

They arrive at Eoferwic the next day and Uhtred has to fight to keep his feet in his exhaustion. The pain in his legs is secondary though to the pain in his neck which had kept him awake most of the previous nights. He stumbles into Haesten’s horse and the Dane’s boot shoots out and thankfully only grazes Uhtred’s head. Haesten has more important things to do than torture Uhtred at the moment though and he dismounts to meet with the Earl. Haesten’s henchman frees Uhtred from the horse, but stakes his rope in the ground.

The sun is setting and Uhtred twists to watch the city’s walls in the dim light. The messenger had been right that Eoferwic remained whole and seeing the city’s walls standing makes Uhtred want to weep. It is a brief reprieve from the nightmare of anxiety he has been living since they left the same city’s gates not six days ago. He knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s summoned before the Earl and he resists the urge to despair, the logical part of his brain knows he will be executed, likely in front of his daughter and his men. 

The distance to the city is too great and Uhtred cannot make out the faces of the figures who pace the walls, but he hopes none of them are Finan. The Irishman has been protective of his lord long before all of this and it will be difficult for him to see Uhtred so humiliated. Not that Uhtred is loving it either. 

Settling down, Uhtred turns his back to Eoferwic and directs his attention to the surrounding camp. The norsemen aren’t busy doing much work to prepare for the siege and this makes Uhtred nervous. Clearly their Earl is no fool and Uhtred can see no other obvious signs of a plan. However, it doesn’t help that his eyes, or the one that isn’t half swollen shut anyway, are exhausted from the days of forced march and the pain of his body distracts from his observations. He can feel himself nodding off, back braced against the waist high stake Burgred drove into the ground to keep him anchored. 

It feels as though he has just shut his eyes when a heavy boot kicks his leg. Grunting, Uhtred peers upward, still half asleep, only to see Haesten’s repulsive face once more. 

“Time to see if the gods truly love you, Uhtred of Bebbanburg,” the pale-haired Dane says with a sneer. Dragging Uhtred to his feet, Haesten holds his rope as one would walk a dog and Uhtred looks to the city’s ramparts once more to distract himself from the shame. It is nearly full dark now, but there are bright torches lining Eoferwic’s walls and Uhtred believes he sees the same man still standing and watching as he did when they first arrived. Contrary to his earlier feelings, for a wild, hopeful moment, Uhtred wants to believe it is Finan. Even if the pitiful sight of his lord causes the Irishman pain, at least Uhtred would be able to rest his eyes on the Finan’s familiar face once more if it is death Uhtred is being dragged towards.

The Earl waits outside his tent for Haesten and his captive and Uhtred blinks in shock. He knows this man, but cannot place him. It is a face from long ago, certainly, likely a nephew of Ragnar the Elder. Gods know the man had enough troublesome nephews to harass a number of countries. 

“Uhtred Ragnarson,” the hulking man starts, tearing meat from the bone with his teeth and letting the grease drip into his beard, “under other circumstances it may have been an honour to meet you.” 

Uhtred smiles tightly, even as Haesten tugs painfully on the rough hewn rope until Uhtred kneels at the fireside. “Perhaps it would be an honour for me as well, if I had bothered to learn your name.” 

The Earl smiles back, but Uhtred can see the violence simmering in the other man’s eyes. “Reputation is pride. When men know your name, they know your plans, your moves. It is how I came to be here, Uhtred. I knew you had come to Eoferwic and I knew you could not resist trying to get pagan and christian to play nicely to expel the evil invaders.” Again, that cheerful smile full of malevolent intent. “By the time the Saxons arrive, if they arrive, we will already be inside the city you have so helpfully improved for us.”

“The lord of this city still lives,” Uhtred reminds him with a twist of his lips. 

“For a time,” the Earl responds nonchalantly. “Sigtryggr may have won a battle, but he cannot stand against us here, not now. And now is when it counts, unfortunately for him.” Uhtred remains silent, searching the man’s face for clues to his identity. It is on the tip of his tongue, but Uhtred refuses to beg the barbarian for his name. “No matter,” the Earl says, slapping his hands onto the tops of his thighs. “None of it will make much difference to you. As a dangerous man myself, I understand men like you, Uhtred. Men like you must die, and you must die badly, for that is how your people will be taken.” Standing, he towers over Uhtred who still kneels in the damp earth. “In the morning you will be whipped in front of the gates until your skin hangs in ribbons, I believe that will be enough to summon your daughter to the walls,” Coming around the fire, with his back to the flames the Earl’s face is a mask of shadows. Uhtred stares into the black pits where the man’s eyes should be. “And when I see her pretty face, I am going to stick my blade straight through your heart.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for a little background plot, but such is writing sometimes. 
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and for continuing to follow along!! We'll see these boys back together in no time. Probably. ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡


	6. I Heard You Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One can't help but notice that these tables are a-turnin'
> 
> TLK FanFicFest Round 3 - Stuck in a siege, Rescue Mission

Finan paces the hallway outside of Stiorra’s room waiting for the young woman to be finished with the head of her guard. Osferth leans against the wall across from her door and watches Finan on his way back and forth. 

“I don’t think she’ll agree, Finan, it’s too risky. What if we try and fail? They will kill him.” Finan bares his teeth at Osferth on his way past. 

“The only way he’s going to survive is if we try,” he growls, fists clenching spasmodically. 

Unable to disagree, Osferth remains silent for a moment. “If she does agree, how do we convince her she can’t come with us?” 

Finan snorts. “One problem at a time,” he replies harshly. 

Stiorra’s door creaks open and Sigtryggr’s man comes out, giving the two men a dismissive look before leaving down the hall. Osferth shrugs at Finan and the Irishman knocks briskly before walking in. 

She hears their plan with a steady, thoughtful face, albeit one lined with fatigue and grief and as Osferth predicted she refuses to let them leave without her. 

“Stiorra, please,” Finan begs, “it will be a small miracle if we can get over the walls without being seen and an even greater one if we can get back.”

She shakes her head resolutely. “He is my father, I should be the one to bring him back.” Her voice quavers at the end, just slightly, and Finan’s heart aches as he places a hand over hers on the table. 

“You need to be here to lead your people until Sigtryggr returns.”

“If he returns,” she counters, lips white as she presses them together. Finan clasps her hand firmly and looks earnestly into her eyes. 

“If that hairy son of a bitch had killed your husband he would be trumpeting it to the heavens, I am sure. He’s waited because he doesn’t have enough men here to take Eoferwic and  _ hold  _ it, so he needed that turd Haesten to show up with the rest of them. Not that many limped in though, so I think your man gave them quite a slapping.” Finan shakes his head ruefully. “It was a bold plan, I’ll give the bastard that, but he overstretched himself and underestimated Sigtryggr. There are only half the men out there that Prylig said, even with their losses counted for, it’s no wonder the Earl came up here instead of trying his luck against the Saxons.”

Stiorra chews the inside of her lip. “You think so?” she asks, voice hopeful.

“Yes,” Finan answers firmly, “I do, but I’m not as sure they’ll arrive in time to help your father.” He can’t bring himself to say Uhtred’s name, afraid his voice will crack and he will give himself away. Standing on the walls and seeing his dearest friend tied behind Haesten’s horse had nearly undone Finan. He had stayed in his place on the ramparts for hours after, watching Uhtred, waiting desperately to see what would happen to him. Other than a meeting with the Earl, nothing has so far, and now Finan is sick of waiting. 

Finally, Stiorra nods and Finan’s heart leaps. 

—

“Alright,” Finan says gruffly, “up and over and back against the wall, ladies.” They are only four, Osferth and two norsemen, but Finan is hoping it will be enough. If they can cause enough of a commotion, Finan might just be able to reach Uhtred. His lord is staked not far into the camp, the night is blessedly dark, and Finan aims to cause a massive disruption. If there’s one thing, Finan has learned from Uhtred over the years, it’s that fire solves everything. “Got what you need?” 

All of them carry flint and grease and instructions to light up anything and everything they can get their hands on.

“Osferth, remember the horses.” 

The younger man looks pained. “The horses, Finan?” 

Frowning, Finan smacks his arm. “Free and scatter them, Baby Monk. Don’t set them on fire.” Osferth blows out a breath and nods, looking abashed. 

Finan breathes deeply and shoulders the rope they will use to climb over the wall. A man will stand guard to lower it again when they are done and Finan prays to every god he can think of that their mission is successful, or that he will die trying.

—

The fire catches easily and quickly despite the damp of the day before and Finan takes it as a good omen. He leaves the others behind to complete their task and tries to get to Uhtred. Unfortunately, while the fire starts quickly, so do the alarm calls and men are swarming everywhere. Finan tries to push through searching for Uhtred, but in the swarms of smoke and panicked men Finan cannot find him. Growing increasingly afraid that they have killed him, Finan becomes frantic. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he whips around, blade low and ready, but it is Osferth. “We have to go, Finan!” He whispers urgently, eyes darting around as they tuck themselves close to the side of one of the tents. Yells for water ring out around them and the smell of smoke is thick. 

“I won’t leave-“

“We have to! You promised Uhtred you’d look after them!” Osferth’s voice is low, but there is steel behind his words and Finan’s eyes dart around, lost and desperate. 

“Go,” the Irishman says, “take the men back with you. I have to stay-“ Osferth pulls Finan into him, face already contorted with helplessness and grief. 

“You promised, Finan! You cannot die here as well!” Rage swells in Finan’s heart, at Osferth, at fucking Norsemen, at Uhtred. If only he had let Finan go with him, at least they would have died together. 

One of Sigtryggr’s men that came with finds them and his eyes dart between Finan and Osferth as he urges them to follow him back to the wall. Finan takes one last desperate scan of the tents and as if God had heard his prayers, Uhtred appears in a space between two tents, still shackled, but alive and looking around with wide eyes, as if he can sense they are the ones behind the tumult. Their eyes meet across the destruction and it is a physical blow to Finan’s chest. 

Aa a large group gathers between them and Uhtred, the tugs of Osferth and the other man grow stronger and even as Finan digs his heels into the soft earth, he knows there is no hope. He misjudged the distance and Uhtred is too far, much too far, and they have to leave him. The moment crawls by as Finan sees the realization come over Uhtred’s face and he’s mouthing at them to go and Finan’s only dimly aware he’s being dragged, unwilling to look away. 

The tent in front of Finan collapses and blocks his view of Uhtred and the crowd of panicked men. As if in a dream, he turns under Osferth’s rough hands and they flee. 

—

Uhtred watches for a few heart-wrenching seconds to see if Haesten and his men spotted Finan and Osferth, but they are distracted by the escaped horses running around the outside of the campsite. The fire has spread to a large number of tents as well and barely awake men run screaming from fiery entrances, hair smoking. 

Fierce pride swells Uhtred’s chest knowing that his men have done this. It keeps the despair at his inability to reach them from turning his lungs inside out. There had been no way and Uhtred would rather not have Finan’s violent death as one of his last memories. 

The screams and chaos seem to go on for hours and Uhtred does his best to huddle away from the worst of the damage. The iron manacles and chains that hold him do their job well. His wrists and ankles are bloodied from his attempts to rip himself free during the height of the fire, but Haesten is clever some of the time and Berger appears and gives Uhtred several good blows for attempting to escape. Weak as he is from thirst and hunger and pain, there is little Uhtred can do. 

As the sun rises, the smoke dims the dawn’s light and Uhtred prepares himself to die. 

However, despite all his promises of violence, the Earl doesn’t come for Uhtred that morning, or the afternoon. The waiting is agonizing, but Uhtred prefers it to torture and death. Eventually he overhears two warriors complaining about having to round up the horses and Uhtred frowns. Resources must be scarce if the Earl is so concerned about losing mounts. The men have been ordered to stay away from Uhtred, so he’s had little luck learning the Earl’s name, but he’s starting to get a sense for the man’s situation. 

The Earl is here because he cannot fight the Saxons and Sigtryggr in the field and he barely has enough men to lay siege to the city now, never mind when it was full of warriors. His numbers and supplies are far fewer than reported and while Uhtred trusts Father Pyrlig with his life, he begins to wonder who gave the holy man his information. 

Eventually though, they do come for him. 

The Earl’s face is a mask of rage, only partially contained, and Uhtred wants to snarl at the satisfaction on the man’s face as Uhtred’s hands are bound above him on a post and his shirt ripped from his back. He was led to the post with a bag over his head and he is bound facing away from the city’s gates. When Uhtred tries to twist his head to see who watches, the Earl strikes the first blow himself. 

All the breath is forced from Uhtred’s lungs at that first stroke. He has been whipped before, often even, on Sverri’s ship, but it is the kind of trauma the mind shields itself from. The Earl calls out to Stiorra and Uhtred shudders to think of his daughter having to watch, attempting to strike Finan from his mind completely. If their positions were reversed Uhtred would be going insane. 

Uhtred vows to stay silent, even as the fourth and fifth lashes land across the first ones and he is sweating from the effort not to scream. There is silence from Eoferwic and Uhtred prays for Stiorra to remain strong for her people and for the Earl to get bored and end his life to spare Uhtred’s family the pain. 

And then, over the rush of blood in his ears, Uhtred swears he can hear the thunder of hooves. Opening his eyes, the stricken face of the Earl is red, swearing foully and calling men to arms. Trapped as he is, Uhtred cranes his head trying to see what is happening and rejoices. Sigtryggr and his warriors and the Mercians led by Aethelflaed race towards the camp, screaming. Uhtred can see Sigtryggr’s savage glee even at distance and despite the agony of his back, begins pulling at his manacles again. 

Haesten’s man comes over to stop him, sword drawn, but he falls with an arrow sprouting from his neck and Uhtred twists his head and manages to see behind him. Finan holds a bow and raises a hand to Uhtred before disappearing from the wall and from view. 

The battle is well and truly underway now and Uhtred hears the great gates crank open and the warriors of Eoferwic rush howling from them to join their leader. Uhtred turns again and Finan is right there, a hand on his shoulder and an axe at his chains. Ducking away, Uhtred hisses at the pain, but his chains fall away almost immediately. 

“Give me a sword,” Uhtred rasps fiercely at Finan, hanging off the Irishman, elated to feel the other man’s solidness, his warmth. Shaking his head, Finan’s hands dig into Uhtred as his disbelieving eyes sweep over the Dane again and again. 

“Go with Stiorra, you fucking arseling, you can barely stand!” Osferth and a circle of men surround them and Uhtred feels light, cool hands on his side. He wraps an arm around Stiorra and presses his face into her hair as she grips at him. 

“Father, please,” Stiorra whispers into his neck, breath puffing against the rawness of his skin from the noose, and even over the battle, Uhtred can hear the plea in her voice. However, her eyes are dry when she pulls back and her face fierce and hopeful. “They will do what needs to be done and there will be justice.” Uhtred wants to grin at the venom in her voice near the end, but he’s finding it difficult to keep his feet. 

“Take him,” Finan says, still holding much of Uhtred’s weight. “Baby Monk!” Osferth edges back from their protective circle and glances at Uhtred.

“Good to see you again, Lord.” Uhtred grunts at him, managing a half smile. 

“Stop flirting with him and help Stiorra get him inside!” Finan teases, eyes blazing as he passes Uhtred to Osferth and gets ready to join the fighting. Uhtred holds onto Finan’s sleeve for a moment and they lock eyes. An understanding based on years of shared dedication passes between them and Uhtred sees Finan swallow. The Dane doesn’t miss the way the Irishman’s hands tremble as he gently disentangles himself from Uhtred. 

The fighting is getting fiercer and Finan leans into Uhtred one last time to whisper, “Try not to get into any more trouble between here and the gate, aye?” His mouth is smirking, but Uhtred can see a shadow in his eyes, a near grief still too recent to be forgotten. 

But then Finan is calling men with him and they are sprinting into the fray and Stiorra and Osferth and their guard are retreating back into the city. When the gates boom shut behind them, Uhtred says one last prayer for Finan’s safety, but the blood is flowing freely down his back now and after days of thirst and pain, Uhtred stumbles, light-headed. Stiorra’s soft cry of alarm is the last sound he hears as he sinks into the black. 

—

Uhtred wakes in a room he doesn’t recognize on a bed that is not his own. He’s laying on his stomach and his first twitch reminds him why. His back is a sea of pain and Uhtred cannot stop the groan that escapes him as he tries to shift. 

“Stop that.” 

Finan’s voice comes from the other side of the bed, scolding softly, and Uhtred moans as he turns his head to face him, neck incredibly stiff. Tutting sharply, Finan edges his chair closer and places a hand on Uhtred’s arm that lays alongside him. “What did I just say?” 

Uhtred breathes out through his nose, amused. “Sihtric is right, you are bossy,” he mumbles into the sheet beneath him. 

Finan’s eyes go wide, highly offended. “I’ll be remembering that the next time that skinny turd needs me to save his arse.” 

Smiling, Uhtred looks up at Finan as well as he can without moving his head. The stiffness from his whipping has set in, but thankfully the sharpness of the pain in his back takes away from the dull sting around his neck. 

“What is this now? The hundredth time you’ve ridden to my rescue?” Uhtred means it to be teasing, but Finan’s face sombers as he wraps his fingers around Uhtred’s wrist and leans close enough to rest his head against Uhtred’s shoulder, being careful of his wounds. 

“Not quite ready to joke about this one,” he murmurs into Uhtred’s skin, the movement of his lips on the Dane’s flesh incredibly distracting. “A little too close.” 

Uhtred takes a deep breath and, not wanting to dislodge Finan, he refrains from trying to turn over. Instead he settles for speaking into Finan’s hair. “I wouldn’t have survived without you and Osferth.”

Finan stays silent, still resting his head on Uhtred. Wanting to see the Irishman’s face, Uhtred does try to shift over, but Stiorra comes in unannounced and Finan sits up abruptly, turning his face to the door. Her eyes dart between them, but Stiorra says nothing as she approaches Uhtred’s bed. Finan gives up his chair to her and he paces to the window on the outerwall. Sighing, Uhtred tears his eyes from the brooding Irishman and returns Stiorra’s relieved smile. 

Rolling onto his side, Uhtred manages to get comfortable without too much wincing and groaning. Concern paints Stiorra’s face, but she lets him be until there is space for her to sit on the bed next to him. She lays a soft hand on his face and sighs. Uhtred lays a hand atop hers and asks seriously, “Sigtryggr?”

Stiorra looks proud as she answers. “Well and whole. His cousin’s men, what few were left, fled.” Her tone is sour as she adds, “And Haesten with them.” Finan makes a rude sound from his perch by the window and Uhtred curses under his breath. 

“Will we never be rid of that stinking turd?” Frowning, he asks Stiorra, “His cousin? Is that who the Earl was?”

Stiorra huffs. “He was no Earl, he was hired for the promise of silver and our city. He and Sigtryggr are cousins, but they have always been enemies.” 

Uhtred exhales through his nose at the information. It explained the familiar feeling he had gotten when faced with the mysterious would-be warlord and it explained the Earl’s secrecy. Fighting against family, those who have known you longest and best, always requires a different set of tactics. 

“Who hired them?” Uhtred asks, brow furrowing, as only a handful of possibilities comes to mind. 

Sighing, Stiorra shrugs. “That is what Sigtryggr would like to know,” she says, looking gravely at her father. 

“And Aethelflaed, how did she come to be here?” 

Now, Stiorra looks uneasy and Uhtred tries to sit up, but she halts him with the hand she still has on his shoulder. Finan almost comes over as well, but takes only one step before seeing that Stiorra has Uhtred well under control. 

“She says that one of Aldhelm’s spies reported the Earl’s movements to them and they rode north immediately to come to our aid.” 

“Sigtryggr doesn’t believe her?”

“It would be convenient, especially if she and Edward are hoping to cover their tracks in case their plan wasn’t successful.” Father and daughter stare at each other for a breath before Uhtred shakes his head. 

“I find it hard to believe,” he says, uncertain. 

“Aethelflaed is still here, they are resting for a few days before they return south. Both she and Sigtryggr want to speak with you, when you’re able.” Uhtred nods, grimacing as the movement pulls on his wounded skin. “That is not now though,” Stiorra says, briskly. “They can wait for later. Rest now and I’ll come with dinner and two scowling leaders when I return.” 

Stiorra pauses, looking down at Uhtred. With soft eyes, she leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead. With one last smile, Stiorra nods to Finan and leaves the room. 

Uhtred sits still for a moment, digesting everything Stiorra had said. Baring his teeth, Uhtred sits up, exhaling hard through his mouth and wrapping his arms around his bent knees. Finan comes over, frowning. 

“Finan,” he asks through teeth clenched against the pain, “what do you think?”

The Irishman shakes his head sitting beside Uhtred facing the opposite direction. “Fucked if I know, I’m just glad you’re here with me again.”

Uhtred smiles gently at him, “I was beginning to think the gods abandoned me just when I had found my courage.”

Finan scoffs quietly, leaning into Uhtred and flattening his hand on the unmarked portion of the wounded man’s back. “Your courage? You would have been mooning over me for another dozen seasons if I hadn’t taken mercy on you.” 

Chuckling, Uhtred leans even closer to Finan, eager for contact after such a traumatic time apart. “Was it that obvious?” 

“To me,” Finan says casually, eyes trailing over the damage to Uhtred’s back. 

Uhtred takes in the sober look on Finan’s face as his eyes scan the lashes. “Bad memories,” Uhtred says, thinking of the similar scars already on his back, the matching ones on Finan. 

“Bad memories,” Finan echoes dully, before snapping out of his reverie and moving his hand to Uhtred’s face. Placing his other hand on the opposite side of Uhtred’s hip, Finan leans over and covers Uhtred’s mouth with his own. A soft press of lips, Uhtred wraps his arms around Finan’s waist, ignoring the pain to pull the other man closer into his body. It isn’t enough and Uhtred deepens their kiss, sliding his tongue along Finan’s lip. Opening his mouth, Finan groans and moves his hand to grip the back of Uhtred’s neck. 

Pulling back a little, breathing heavily, Finan says, “You need rest, Uhtred.”

“Not as much as I need you,” Uhtred murmurs, trying to coax Finan back in. There’s something dark in the Irishman’s eyes and he resists Uhtred’s efforts. 

Clearing his throat, Finan stands in one smooth motion, hands trailing across Uhtred’s skin. The Dane can see his reluctance to leave, but that odd look remains on Finan’s face. 

Clearly conflicted, Finan mumbles something more about rest and Osferth and then, with one last intense look at Uhtred, he’s out the door. 

Uhtred is left sitting there, doubt and confusion running rampant through his brain. Wincing as he shakes his head, Uhtred lowers himself back down onto his side gingerly and closes his eyes, willing sleep to come and the antsy Irishman to return sooner rather than later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, this chapter was slow to appear, but we're here finally and it even has a happy ending (more or less)!
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always. Much love ♡


	7. A New Day Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, so sorry for leaving you hanging!
> 
> This chapter is a short one, we're just about at the end. I have to say, writing Osferth always makes me smile. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Despite Stiorra’s promise to deliver Sigtryggr and Aethelflaed to Uhtred after supper, the Lady of Mercia knocks quietly as the light changes to a soft orange through the window. Uhtred has just woken and sits on the edge of the bed, stretching and wincing. Even though he would prefer to have Finan with him, Uhtred is a bit relieved at the Irishman’s absence for then the Dane can make vicious faces as the wounds on his back pull and burn. Breathing out heavily and straightening his back as much as it will allow, Uhtred places his hands on his knees and calls for the person to enter.

Aethelflaed opens the door slowly, turning to close it gently before she faces him. With a deep inhale, Aethelflaed rakes her eyes over him and Uhtred watches her. She’s bathed since the battle and the tips of her hair are still wet, leaving dark spots on the shoulders of her sky blue dress. 

“It didn’t take long for you to find trouble,” she says with a cool smile. 

Uhtred raises his eyebrows, rolling his lips together. He is glad to see Aethelflaed, not only because she helped save his life, but because she is his friend. The weight of their shared history hangs over him though and he’s surprised to find he’s still sore about her part in Stiorra being bartered away. Even though Uhtred knows it was what Stiorra wanted, to be with Sigtryggr, his heart baulks at the idea of his daughter being used as a bargain chip. Reminding himself again that Aethelflaed is a kind woman who was only doing what was best for her people, Uhtred feels himself softening. The love between them has changed and in these first few moments, Uhtred can feel that change keenly. 

“Sigtryggr thinks we have betrayed him,” she starts, eyebrow quirked. 

“Have you?” Uhtred asks frankly, the corner of his mouth creeping upwards. If Aethelflaed and Edward have planned this, it is unlikely she will actually tell him, but he still finds it difficult to believe. 

She levels a disappointed look at him, eyes glinting mischievously as she asks, “What do you think?”

“I find it unlikely,” Uhtred says, honestly. She nods slowly in response, eyeing him thoughtfully as she walks towards the bed. He looks up at her as she stops, the edge of her skirts brushing over the tops of his bare feet. 

“Then you’ll believe me when I say it was not me,” she states.

“What about Edward?” Uhtred asks, dread curling his stomach. Even if Aethelflaed had not participated in her brother’s treachery, she will certainly back him in any conflict against Sigtryggr. His son-in-law is too dangerous to allow greater influence and power. 

Aethelflaed sighs, an edge of exasperation creeping in. “Edward is innocent, I truly believe that, but I am not as sure of the men who guide him. They are short-sighted and crude.” Her fists clench at her sides and Uhtred sees that quiet fury glide across her face. “I have reason to believe Aethelhelm was involved in my mother’s deterioration. He has the means and the stupidity to have done such a thing.”

“I was sorry to hear of your mother,” Uhtred says genuinely, taking one of her hands and gently coaxing her tense fingers to uncurl. 

“Thank you," she says, voice steady, but low. "My father used to say that traitors are largely opportunists without morals and it seems he is right once again.” Uhtred raises his eyebrows, wanting to roll his eyes, but managing to resist. 

“Traitors do tend to thrive in the chaos they create,” he allows, thinking of Aethelwold and his scheming. 

Aethelflaed stares at him solemnly before her lips quirk to one side, but there is little humour in it. “I am very glad you are alright,” she says, eyes slipping over his shoulder. “I’m sorry we didn’t arrive sooner.” 

Uhtred catches himself before he shrugs. “A few more scars are a small price to pay.”

For the first time since she’s entered the room, Aethelflaed looks uncertain. “Will you help me assure Sigtryggr of our intentions?”

“What are your intentions?” Uhtred asks seriously. He still isn’t sure if he actually believes her, or if he simply wishes to, for all their sake. 

“We do not want war, not against a man we have already struck a deal with.”

“A man you were  _ forced _ to strike a deal with when he took control of your father’s seat,” Uhtred reminds her as he eyes her face. Tension appears in fine lines around her mouth, but she inclines her head to acknowledge his words. 

“Be that as it may, we didn’t ride to defeat the pretender just to turn around and battle Sigtryggr. Aethelhelm, if he is truly the one behind this, will face justice, but before I leave to meet with Edward, I would like to be sure that Sigtryggr will not turn his eye to my lands in retaliation for an evil I have not participated in.” 

They stare at each other and Uhtred spreads his hands wide. “Sigtryggr may not be content with just your word that Aethelhelm will pay. He’s lost many men, not to mention the cost and trouble of the siege. He will want payment and Aethelhelm’s head as well, I imagine.”

She exhales through her nose, but Uhtred knows Aethelflaed anticipated this. The Dane doesn’t envy her, stuck between Edward and Sigtryggr, but ruling was what she wanted, and indeed what she was born and moulded to do. 

“I don’t suppose you will come with me to bargain with Edward for Sigtryggr.” It is not a question, but Uhtred answers with a shake of his head regardless. 

“I’m still in the middle of the king’s last request. My place is here in the north with Aethelstan. If Aethelhelm is comfortable acting boldly, the boy needs distance for his safety more than ever.” 

-

Uhtred stands on the wall in the same spot he had occupied so many months ago yearning for Bebbanburg. It feels strange, given all that has happened and Uhtred wonders how many ghosts a single city can hold. Memories of his first meetings with Gisela crowd his mind and he wonders if the North will always be populated by the dead to him. For the first time he begins to wonder about the phantoms that will linger about him when he takes his rightful seat. Would Bebbanburg be a wasteland of grief and regret, or would his victory there expunge the ghouls from his soul?

Sighing deeply, Uhtred adjusts the light blanket around his shoulders. It’s been a few days since the battle and his back is healing well, but it is early and no one is around who will care that Uhtred stands only in his trousers with the blanket covering his back. It’s refreshing to be out in the air, away from the sick room he’d been penned up in. 

Uhtred knows that Finan means well, but even Stiorra had been rolling her eyes behind the Irishman’s back at his fussing. The oddness of that first morning has disappeared, but Uhtred still catches Finan giving him strange looks when he thinks Uhtred isn’t looking and with the flow of people through the Dane’s room, there has been little time for anything else. In a rare moment of privacy, Uhtred had tried to convince Finan to stay with him at night, but the Irishman had only chuckled and winked as he insisted that Uhtred use all the space in his bed for recovering his strength before taking on Finan. Despite his teasing though, Finan’s mind is clearly occupied and Uhtred cannot puzzle out what is bothering the Irishman. They have faced death together before, surely a handful of kisses cannot have changed their relationship that much. 

A light scuff of boots on stone draws Uhtred out of his thoughts and he twists his head to the stairs. Osferth approaches him, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“You’re up early this morning, Lord,” Osferth comments, coming to stand beside Uhtred. 

Uhtred huffs. “It was the only way to escape that room. He’s never been a morning person.”

Osferth smiles fondly and says, “This is true. The day could start at noon and I don’t think Finan would really mind.”

Chuckling, Uhtred replies, “Let’s hope he sleeps in today. He could use the rest.” 

Nodding, Osferth says, “It has been a difficult time. I don’t think Finan has quite recovered from everything that happened. He worries for you.” Uhtred can feel Osferth’s eyes on him and he looks back at him from the corner of his eye. Uhtred knows Osferth will not betray them, but that doesn’t mean they need to have a heart to heart about it here on the wall. Osferth obviously has something to say though and his voice is quiet as he begins. “When we couldn’t reach you, Lord,” Osferth shakes his head, corners of his mouth pulled down in a way that reminds Uhtred starkly of Alfred. “When it became clear that we wouldn’t be able to rescue you as planned, I thought Finan was going to turn on us for holding him back. He wouldn’t accept that we had failed you.”

Uhtred’s heart constricts and he bows his head. It was guilt he had been seeing on Finan’s face, but there is no need for it. “You did more than I could have ever hoped. The delay saved my life.”

Osferth smiles humourlessly. “Yes, but we didn’t know that at the time. You try being locked up in here with him frothing at the mouth practically. It has been a long few days for all of us.” Stiorra’s eyes, filled with tears of relief, crowd Uhtred’s mind and he places a hand on Osferth’s shoulder. 

“More like a lifetime, really,” Uhtred replies, hollowly. Osferth nods his agreement and a comfortable silence sits between them for a few breaths. 

“Do you think there will be war?”

“There will always be war,” Uhtred responds, voice tired, “but if it will be between Sigtryggr and Edward, I do not know. Aethelflaed is insisting they had no knowledge of the plot and she is vowing to deliver justice.”

“Do you think it is possible? Saxon justice rarely satisfies men like Sigtryggr.” Uhtred glances over and takes in the serious and thoughtful cast to Osferth’s features. Leofric’s nephew has been with Uhtred for so many years now, sometimes the Dane forgets how much he has grown.

“Baby Monk, you have learned something.” Uhtred teases, nudging Osferth gently with his covered shoulder. Cheeks tinting pink, Osferth smiles back warmly and shrugs. “And you’re right, it is unlikely, but it will have to be enough that Aethelfaed is trying. When I spoke with them both Sigtryggr seemed sceptical, but he isn’t prepared to fight again quite so soon. And leaving behind most of the chests of silver Aethelflaed’s men recovered from the imposter’s camp was a smart gesture of goodwill. Only time will tell.” 

Sighing, Osferth laments, “Let us hope that the goodwill lasts.”

“Do you want to stay here?” Uhtred questions. The Dane cannot decide what their next step forward should be. Do they move on into the wilderness for the summer, or should they stay and make their home here in Eoferwic? Stiorra and Sigtryggr would be glad to have them and they have a home here and walls to protect Aethelstan, but the wanderer in Uhtred always itches. 

Osferth shrugs. “You have always led us true, Lord. Whatever you decide will be best, but you don’t have to decide this morning. Come down to the house, Aethelstan and Eadith will be making breakfast by now and you could use the food.” Uhtred breathes out through his nose before agreeing. The other man is right, no decision has to be made today. The gods will show him the way and until then, he has a remorseful Irishman to speak with. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> And thank you to the Enablers, as usual this is pretty much your fault ♡
> 
> Apologies for errors.


End file.
